Thursday, 31 March 2011

Vest, Born with a silver Spoon, "I Think Not"

This Post is in reply to a WU Blogger, who suggests that I Vest was born holding a silver spoon

This was his Bad-Ass of me.

Anonymous said...
I cant imagine Vest to be what he portrays, an asshole - perhaps a greedy overweight christian hog with pots of shekels - born to wealth and fed with the silver goblet is more to the truth, he is a mockery to poverty and hateful to religions mainly muslims and jews.a big man in his castle torture his many starving servent swhile he eats fine food and wine and beds many women to sate his sexual appitite. A..W U B's.

Tuesday, 29 March 2011 12:26:00

Herewith unfolds the truth. WGTATF or Memoirs of Vest.

A New Begining.

Little John Spencer, awakened by the call of the rooster in the back

garden, tiptoed across the creaking floorboards to lift the latch of the

leaded window. The bees at the end of the garden were in full flight after

busily taking off one by one upon emerging from the slot at the bottom of

their hive. As he listened, the old rooster repeated his call, which was

echoed by calls from other roosters further a field, bringing the day to

life.

I, little John Spencer, rushed over to my brother and shook him,

saying, .C.mon, we.ve got to get up.. Dressing as we went down the

stairs, we tumbled through the open door and emerged into the sunlight.

.Let.s go!. Christopher cried.

.Now don.t go too far away, and be back for breakfast in half an

hour,. said Mrs Parker.

.Yes, Auntie,. we chorused.

It was a beautiful summer morning in late July 1932. A lightly scented

breeze wafted over the myriad of summer flowers near the cottage. We

hurried down a long path and crossed the road over to .Turners. farm,

where I was subjected to other unfamiliar smells. I saw the brook flowing

over a slippery wooden causeway. Hanging over the brook were bushes

with white marble-sized seeds that looked like small snowballs, which

sheltered the fish in the brook from the sun. As I looked around at that

moment, I could feel only happiness. My six-year-old mind focused on

the tranquillity of my surroundings and said, .This is where I belong. I

never want to leave it. ever..

My elder brother, Christopher and I had arrived here at the village of

Chalgrove in Oxfordshire the day before. We had travelled by train and

bus from London, where our earlier years had been a succession of

uncertainties and disappointments.

16 July 1926 . 21 Homerton Place, Hackney, London E8

There had been no bright stars or claps of thunder to herald my arrival

into this world . only an expression of deep concern from my parents,

2 . Waving Goodbye to a Thousand Flies

who wondered how they were going to support this new addition to the

family on an already overstretched budget.

John Leonard Spencer, son of Albert George Spencer aged thirtyseven

and Victoria Violet Maude Spencer, nee Stephens, aged twentynine,

was born on the stroke of midnight within the sound of Bow Bells

on this auspicious day. According to London folklore, if .Bow bells could

be heard,. it meant I was a true Cockney. Also, being a Thursday.s child,

.I had far to go,. or If a Friday.s child, loving and giving, a poetic promise

borne out in many generous portions later in life.

1926 was not a good year to enter the world. There was much political

strife, coupled with industrial strikes, job shortages, and a generally

undernourished population. Very few people escaped the deprivations

that continued into the early 1930.s.

I remember little of my first years, although I vaguely remember my

brother, Christopher, who was seventeen months my senior, born on

Christmas day 25 December 1924. I also recall older children dressing me

in a paper suit and the unusual aroma of a confection that sold on the

local streets (which I have never smelled since.) Then there was the barrel

organ, which we knew as a Hurdy Gurdy. A swarthy looking bloke with

a large, red-spotted kerchief tied around his neck and a monkey on his

shoulder sang to the Italian music he played, while the monkey foraged

through the singer.s hair. Occasionally the monkey collected a penny or

two in a tin can. If the tin can rattled at the end of the day, they would

eat.

When I had reached three years of age, my father proudly polished

his medals and buttons and went to summer camp with the Territorials.

When the camp was over, he returned with his fellow East Kent regiment

About Me

Ardent family orientated bloke,love my family lots.
Love Australia my Beautiful adopted country, but remember passionately my home village, Chalgrove in Oxfordshire, England. My favourite friends would include several shipmates I am in close contact with who served with me while in the British Royal Navy ..going back a fair bit.
There is also the silence of my age, too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it - in words intelligible to those who have not lived-the great range of my life.
Vest.GSM, LSGCM, WM, B/PM, ITM, UNM, K-N M, EOW M, Asia- PAC M. ROYAL NAVY 25yrs, Retired.